


Failure Is Not An Option

by wesleyfanfiction_archivist



Category: Angel: the Series
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-05-31
Updated: 2005-05-31
Packaged: 2018-07-12 08:26:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7094230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wesleyfanfiction_archivist/pseuds/wesleyfanfiction_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In my version of the Wishverse, Buffy didn't rescue Angel; Wesley did.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Failure Is Not An Option

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Versaphile, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [WesleyFanfiction.net](http://fanlore.org/wiki/WesleyFanFiction.Net). Deciding that it needed to have a more long-term home, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in February 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact the e-mail address on [WesleyFanfiction.net collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/wesleyfanfiction/profile).

Notes: Originally written in April, 2001 for the Wishverse Improv.

 

The tall, thin man pulled the collar of his coat closer to his neck, as if guarding against the wind that whipped and swirled wildly on the other side of the window. His eyes caught the movement of a soda can, bouncing and clacking it's way down the deserted street, following it until it had disappeared again, intent on reaching its unknown destination. Without warning, the van he was riding in hit a pot hole, causing him to smack his forehead painfully against the window glass.

"Sorry, man." 

Wesley turned towards the driver, a slight, intense red-headed young man, whose face always wore an expression of fierce determination crossed with serious contemplation. 

"That's quite all right." 

Oz acknowledged the response with a silent dip of his head and his eyes returned to the road.

Having been assigned to assist former Watcher Rupert Giles on the Hellmouth in Sunnydale, California only a few weeks before, Wesley Wyndam-Pryce had arrived pumped full of book knowledge, pompous airs and precious little else. This had already nearly cost him his life, and he'd been quickly dismissed by the elder Englishman as being an arrogant prig. However, for Wesley failure was not an option, and he was nothing if not adaptable. Perhaps that was why he had volunteered to come on this mission with the laconic guitarist. Perhaps he felt he had something to prove. 

The van turned a corner and Oz brought it to a halt across the street from their destination: The Bronze. 

"Ready?" 

Taking a deep breath and releasing it slowly, Wesley nodded reluctantly. "As ready as I'll ever be to enter the domain of a supreme vampire and his family, yes."

*****

Darkness and death hung thickly in the air, permeating every corner, a humidity of despair. Wesley gazed about the room in horror and disgust, his eyes flitting from ropes that dangled off the pool tables to metal cages suspended a few feet off the floor, one of which still contained a lifeless victim, a young man unlucky enough to be caught out after dark. He swallowed hard, fighting the rising bile back down his throat.

At Oz's signal, the two separated, the former heading for the backstage area, while Wesley gingerly pushed aside the velvet curtains to his left, revealing what appeared to be a private sitting room, with an ornate high-backed chair at its center. He peered around anxiously, but there was no sign of the Master, or anyone else for that matter. It was still an hour until sundown, so it stood to reason the vampires might be sleeping elsewhere. 

Continuing his search of the Master's lair, Wesley made his way down an old, creaky stairway into the dank, dark basement, following the cellar path until he came to a dungeon-like area. One half of the room was closed off by thick iron bars, while the other walls were hung with various instruments of torture, some recognizable, some not, all frightening. The cell door was open and from his vantage point Wesley could see a petite, leather clad figure on the ground, straddling something. Inching his way forward, it soon became clear to him that the red-headed woman was actually a vampiress, one who was busy torturing an unfortunate victim gleefully with a pair of rusty scissors and a box of matches. Wesley was torn. On one hand, he was on a fact-finding mission only and was really only prepared to fight in self-defense. On the other hand, it was his sworn duty as a Watcher to do whatever he could to stop the vampire and come to the aid of this poor man. His mind made up, Wesley crept forward as silently as he could, the vampire being too caught up in the whimpers of her victim to notice him until he was almost upon her. 

Wesley reached into his pocket, withdrawing a stake and raising it up. Just as he prepared to bring it crashing down into the back of the redhead, she whirled on him, a playful smile gracing her ridged features. 

"Oooh look, puppy...a new chew toy to play with."

Unable to move or speak, the terrified Watcher's eyes were locked on the pearly white fangs protruding through her ruby red lips as her tongue darted in and out seductively. A loud moan of agony from the floor caught the vamp's attention for a moment, and in a split second of desperation, Wesley squeezed his eyes shut and plunged forward. He waited for the feel of fangs ripping through his jugular, and when it never came he timidly opened one eyelid, then the other. At his feet lay the injured man, now covered in dust. Terror gave way to elation and pride. He'd done it. He'd killed his first vampire out in the field. Another groan from the torture victim quickly brought Wesley back to reality and he knelt down to see what the damage was.

The man, laying on his side, curled in a fetal position, was gasping for breath, his hands crossed protectively over his chest. Upon sensing Wesley's presence he instinctively tried to push himself away, whimpering and shaking. _No doubt in shock, poor fellow._ Wesley shook his head sadly. He was about to attempt to release the heavy chains fastened to the prisoner's wrists, when a pale face turned towards him, pleadingly. A shock of recognition jolted Wesley’s nervous system, sending him reeling backwards, a one-word gasp escaping his lips.

"Angelus." 

The whimpering stopped, the pleading look turning to one of curiosity. "You know me?"

Know him? The hairstyle was different, and the clothes updated, but the face...Wesley could never forget that face. His fascination with the historically renowned vampire Angelus - or Angel as the demon had taken to calling himself in more recent years - had been going on for several years, ever since he'd first found a sketch of the creature in one of his text books at the Academy. Since then he'd amassed quite a file on the 'Scourge Of Europe', complete with photocopies of over fifty different woodcuts, sketches, and daguerreotypes of the handsome man. 

"I....uh, I..."

Angel struggled into a sitting position, his back pressed heavily against the wall, and sniffed the air, experimentally. "You're human," he exclaimed, sounding surprised.

"And you're not." Wesley had recovered enough to at least _sound_ in control. He brandished the stake in his hand menacingly at the chained vampire. "Tell me all you know about the Master's plans," he demanded.

Shrinking back involuntarily, Angel shot back, "And how do I know you won't kill me anyway, after I've told you?"

"Because I know who you are - what you _were_ \- and I haven't done it yet." Their eyes met and an unspoken agreement was made. Once Angel had told Wesley all he knew of the Master's plans and the factory, he pulled some tools from his coat pocket and easily picked the locks on the vampire's manacled wrists and bent to help him stand.

"Who _are_ you?" Angel grunted, leaning heavily on the younger man. Wesley was a bit surprised at the question, and then chagrined, because it wasn’t as though there were any reason Angelus should know who _he_ was.

"I am Wesley Wyndam-Pryce, from the Council of Watchers." 

"You're a Watcher? You know the Slayer? I-Is Buffy Summers here?" Wesley frowned at Angel's sudden excitement.

"The Slayer could not be spared at this time. I was sent in her place." He hoped this made him sound important, rather than like an afterthought. Angel was silent for nearly a full minute, before he spoke again, thoughtfully this time.

"Then, maybe I was sent to help _you_." He looked Wesley in the eye. "I've been waiting for Buf - for someone to come. When the Master rose, he let me live...to punish me. I kept hoping.... It's my destiny." 

Wesley scowled. "I don't know about your destiny, but I do know that if we don't get out of here before the Master catches us neither of us will have one." He wrapped an arm tightly around the trim waist of the injured man, trying to ignore the feel of the muscular torso beneath his touch. Angel's rapt attention unnerved him. His heart was pounding and blood was rushing insistently to his cheeks, as they made their way back up the stairs and towards the exit.

"Bloody hell, how are we going to get you to the van?" Wesley squinted at the lowering sun.

Angel pulled away and reached behind the bar, pulling out an order pad and pen, which he began to scribble on. "You go on ahead. I'll be fine. Here's the address of the factory. I can meet you there tonight." Wesley scrutinized him for a moment. The vampire was still mouth breathing and leaning heavily on the bar. 

"No, you need those wounds attended to. Besides, I don't know if I trust you out of my sight." His eyes searched the room, falling at last on the heavy curtains they had recently passed through. One good yank and a panel came away in his hands. Draping the thick material around Angel like a cloak, the two made a run for the van, where Angel fell into a heap in the back, light wisps of smoke trailing up from his covering, but otherwise unharmed. It wasn't long before Oz came running out, slipping into the driver's seat, his expression grim.

"Any luck?" 

"As a matter of fact," Wesley indicated the figure behind him. "I managed to rescue this poor fellow from a cage in the basement." He handed Angel's note to Oz. "He was able to tell me the location of the Master's...er...factory." Oz raised one eyebrow, and took the proffered paper.

"Oh. Cool. Mission accomplished then."

"Perhaps you could drop us at my flat and take the information to Mr. Giles." Again, he motioned towards Angel. "He has some wounds that need attending to."

Oz looked at Angel, then back at Wesley. "Sure, no problem."

Once depositing his two passengers at the shaded entrance to Wesley's apartment building, Oz sped off quickly to find Giles, no doubt wishing to be safely indoors before the rapidly approaching sunset.

*****

The vampire's skin felt as soft and cool as silk. Antiseptic ointment was sticky on the ends of his fingers as Wesley smeared it thickly over several jagged cuts and angry red burns. Swallowing hard, he tore his eyes away from the vast expanse of bare chest, only to find Angel's eyes focused unwaveringly on him. To be in such intimate proximity to a vampire - _this_ vampire - he should be terrified, and yet....

"Bandages." The word felt thick in his throat. When Angel cocked his head quizzingly, Wesley pointed towards the gauze and tape he had prepared ahead of time, which Angel dutifully handed over. Once finished, he stepped back and surveyed his handiwork, then handed over one of his own shirts to wear, while Angel's eyes continued following his every move.

"Y-you're not, er, hungry or anything, are you?" Wesley backed up nervously, the thought just occurring to him. Only then did Angel allow a slight smile to quirk at his lips.

"Relax, I don't bite anymore."

"So it's true; your soul _was_ returned to you?" 

Angel nodded slowly, an almost wistful frown now gracing his features. "The Master made sure I was fed regularly. It speeds up the healing time." He motioned to his bandages. "To be ready for the next torture session," he amended.

"Ah, I see." Wesley found himself feeling sorry for the vampire, which was even more distressing for him. As if reading his mind, Angel abruptly stood up, slipping the grey sweater Wesley had given him over his head before heading towards the door. 

"Look, thanks for the rescue and everything, but I gotta go. Willow said the Master's plant is going to be operational tonight, and if no one stops him --" Wesley's hand on his forearm stopped him.

"I don't want you to - You'll never manage it alone. Y-you're wounded, and he's already captured you once."

"Come with me then. Rally your troops. People - lots of people - are gonna die tonight if we don't do something to stop it." Angel’s stance was tense, as if he were impatient for the fight, no doubt itching to face down his tormentor.

Wesley heard himself snort sarcastically. "I doubt very much I would be of any help to you," he murmured softly.

"You've _already_ helped me," Angel pointed out, just as softly, his eyes connecting with Wesley's yet again. The resulting silence was pierced suddenly by the loud jangling ring of the telephone, resting nearby on the hall table. Nearly jumping out of his skin, Wesley angrily snatched up the receiver. 

"Yes? Calm down, Giles...No, I've never heard of a demon called Anyanka....A wish? What sort of...The Slayer?" He grew pale and shot a worried glance towards Angel, who was now listening intently. "Buffy Summers...She what?...I see, yes, of course." He slowly hung up the phone. "It would seem our Ms. Summers has arrived after all and is currently heading for a showdown with the Master at his factory, even as we speak. Oz and the others have gone after her, to offer what assistance they can."

"Right, you got any weapons around here?"

*****

The two new allies arrived at the plant just in time for all hell to break loose - literally. Frantically scanning the crowd of adoring vampires watching their master eagerly, Angel finally found who he was looking for. Buffy Summers, her blonde hair hanging in a tight braid down her back, was making her way through the throng, a crossbow gripped firmly in her hand. Wesley, who had been curiously examining the odd expanse of stainless steel machinery that took up much of the room, turned to find his partner pushing his way after the diminutive Slayer. He watched breathlessly as the girl lifted her bow, aimed and shot the bolt, only to have the Master deflect it with the body of one of his minions at the last moment. Undeterred, Buffy continued her assault, kicking, punching and staking her way through the masses, as she tried to make her way to her ultimate goal. Angel was not far behind, doing the same.

A voice calling his name drew Wesley's attention to a large wooden cage full of screaming humans, no doubt intended victims of the Master's scheming. Among the group, he was able to single out Oz, who was motioning to him frantically.

"We got ambushed as soon as we got here. Get us out, man." 

Wesley lifted up the crossbar to the cage's gate, threw it open and started pulling people out. The crowd of humans began to stream into the fray. Oz reached up and broke off a piece of one of the wooden cage bars, immediately jamming it into the back of the nearest vampire. Following his example, Wesley broke off a few large pieces of wood himself, and went in search of Angel and the Slayer. By sticking close to the perimeter and fighting off attackers when necessary, he had nearly worked his way behind the Master when Ms. Summers made her move.

Turning to face the Master, Buffy began to stride purposefully towards him, her face a mask of stone. Delighted at the prospect of facing the Slayer at last, the Master began shoving aside humans and vampires alike, in his determination to get at Buffy. What happened next would be forever engrained in Wesley's memory, to be played back in painful slow motion, as he could do nothing but watch helplessly from the platform on which he stood. 

The Master and Buffy finally met with swings that neatly blocked each other. Buffy attempted to reach up and grab hold of the ancient vampire's forearm, only to be caught by surprise by a hard backhanded swing to the face. Clearly dazed, the girl was helpless as the Master grabbed hold of her shoulders, pulling her towards him. Angel, fighting his way towards the pair, was agonizingly too late, as the Master took hold of Buffy's head, gave it a hard twist, and snapped her neck.

As Buffy's lifeless body slipped bonelessly to the floor, Wesley closed his eyes, fighting back tears. He had never even met the girl, but as a Watcher he mourned her death. Angel had leapt forward, trying to stop the inevitable, and now found himself facing his old master. 

"Well well, Angelus." The Master chuckled menacingly. "I had wondered where you'd gotten too. Shame on you for coming to disturb my little gathering. Perhaps I was wrong in keeping you alive so long." He surveyed the piles of dust that littered the once clean floor. "You certainly are turning out to be more trouble than you're worth." Angel remained silent, as he watched his elder remove an ornately carved stake from his robes, weighing it carefully in his twisted hands. Taking a deep breath and holding it, Angel was preparing himself for the worst, when the Master's smug expression changed to one of astonishment, then annoyance.

"What the -" were his final words as he looked down at the jagged piece of wood protruding from his chest, before a powerful explosion of dust filled the air and the Master was gone. Angel watched a long plank clattered to the floor then looked up to find a pale, quaking Wesley staring back at him. In the hysteria that followed, many of the now leaderless vampires fled the building, while others were easily picked off and staked by their former captives. Ignoring all this, Angel wrapped a protective arm around Wesley's shoulders and began to guide him towards the plant's entrance.

"I did that? Did I do that?" Wesley seemed to be in shock. 

"Yeah, Wes, _you_ did that." Angel grinned at him.

"I'm not such a complete failure after all then, am I?" Before Angel could answer, the pair were joined by an excited Oz and his fellow freedom fighter, Larry, the latter whooping and hollering and grinning like a madman, the former clapping Wesley on the back in congratulations. 

"Nice job back there. I give you a ten for style."

"Er, thank you," Wesley beamed, beginning to adjust to the idea that he was somewhat of a hero.

"It's still not too safe around here," Angel interjected. "I suggest we round up all the survivors and get them back to their homes. Nodding in agreement, Oz and Larry turned to gather their comrades. Wesley started to follow, but was stopped by a strong grip on his arm.

"Uh uh, not you. I'm taking you home."

*****

Wesley had barely made it through the door to his flat when Angel attacked. Pushing hard against the vampire, he struggled in vain to free himself.

_Oof_ "Hold still, will ya?" Angel pinned the wiggling man against the nearest wall.

"Wha-what are you doing?" Terror at the idea that it had all been a joke, that he was about to be turned or killed, washed over him.

"I'm _trying_ to kiss you," was the exasperated reply.

"Kiss me? Why?" 

Angel pulled back in surprise, humor lacing his simple answer. "Because you want me to." 

"I most certainly do not!"

"Yeah right, that's why you can't keep your eyes off me and your fingers tremble whenever you touch me." Angel leaned in and breathed deeply at Wesley's neck, and Wes couldn’t control the answering shiver that ran through his body. "You're giving off pheromones like you wouldn't believe...and how do you explain this?" He grinned wickedly and placed a firm hand on Wesley's crotch, which was definitely showing signs of interest.

"I, oh -" Any feeble protest was cut short by firm lips being pressed to his, and then there was no protest. There were only hands: Angel's hands tugging the fabric of Wesley's shirt from his trousers, delicate fingers rubbing softly at his bare belly, Wesley's hands in Angel's hair, painfully pulling him closer. He felt the button pop and the zipper of his trousers being lowered, then Angel's hand was gripping his rigid erection, sliding up and down, causing Wesley to groan into Angel's mouth. It was a good thing he was still pinned to the wall or he would surely have fallen over.

Just as quickly, the lips were gone. Wesley opened his eyes and blinked in dismay. No, not gone, he corrected himself, only moving lower. He felt his knees buckling as Angel's mouth found his cock and began to suck. Arms flailed out, searching for something to cling to, gasps and moans echoing from his throat. It had been a long time, such a long time, and he wasn't going to be able to hold back for long. 

Angel must have sensed it, for he soon stopped and rose up again, much to Wesley's consternation. Unfastening and lowering his own trousers, he began to grind his arousal against Wesley's, the friction heating them both. Tilting his head to one side, Angel whispered hoarsely into Wesley's ear.

"Bite me." 

" _What_?"

"I want you to bite me," Angel repeated urgently.

"Wh-why?"

Angel began taking little nips at Wesley's throat with still-blunt teeth. "Because it's gonna turn _you_ on as much as it does me. Trust me." He chuckled and added, "I'm a vampire. Do I really need to go into the whole biting thing?" Reaching down, he began to pump at both himself and Wesley at once, and this was all too much. Wesley sank his teeth into the soft flesh of Angel's throat.

"Harder!" Angel's gasp of pleasure egged him on. Wesley bit harder until skin gave way beneath his teeth and blood oozed into his mouth. He vaguely sensed a sharp pain at the base of his own throat, before his orgasm hit. Blinding white light exploded behind his eyelids, then he was falling, falling, falling, and there was only darkness.

***** 

Wesley awoke the next morning to find himself naked in bed, with an equally naked sleeping vampire draped unceremoniously across his chest. Fingertips lightly traced the already healing bite mark on Angel's neck and when Wesley reached up there was a small bandage taped to his own. So it was real, all of it. Suddenly panicked, he pressed his fingers to his wrist, letting out a sigh of relief at finding the strong pulse throbbing there. While his brain attempted to sort through everything that had happened to him in the past 24 hours, his body began making demands of its own. No longer able to ignore the call of nature, Wesley slid himself out from under Angel and made his way to the bathroom, then pulled on a pair of boxers and a t-shirt and headed for the kitchen to fix breakfast. On his way past the hall table, he noticed the red light on his answering machine winking frantically at him. "Danger, Will Robinson," he muttered to himself, absently hitting the play button on his way by. 

Four new messages. Two from Giles - the first one rambling on and on about a pendant and a wish, the second all full of praise and concern for his well-being, no doubt made after Oz's report to Giles after last night. 

The third message nearly caused Wesley to drop his teacup, as the booming voice of Quentin Travers, his superior with the Council, seemed to bounce off the walls at him, congratulating him on his success (just how _had_ they learned of it so quickly?), and assuring him that he was now a front-runner for the job of Watcher to the new active Slayer.

When the short final message played, Wesley set down his cup and silently moved towards the answering machine. He pressed replay and listened again. Then he listened a third time. Stunned, he sank slowly into the chair next to him and gaped at the machine, as if it were personally responsible for the sound of his father's voice emanating from inside it. His father - the man who had never had a kind word to say to his only son - was proud of him. And he had it on tape. He quickly hit the save button. He was going to want to listen to that at least a few more times. 

Just then, the phone began to ring again and Wesley eagerly snatched up the receiver. "Hello?...Oh, yes, hello, Giles....No, I'm fine, thank you....Well, it really was a group effort....You've discovered what?...Well, if you're sure. I'll be over as soon as I can." With a sigh, he set down the phone. So much for breakfast.

*****

"...but I just don't see the point of all this!" Wesley tossed up his arms in frustration. "The Master is dead. Mr. Travers has informed me that the new Slayer will most likely be assigned here. Why should we need to change anything?" 

Giles removed his glasses and rubbed at his tired eyes. "Good god man, don't you understand? Cordelia said she made a wish that things were different, and this pendant proves she invoked the powers of Anyanka -"

"Yes, yes, Patron Saint of scorned women. So you've explained to me." Wesley looked at his watch, wishing he hadn't left Angel without telling him where he was going, wanting to be back home, curled up in bed next to him right now.

"If what I suspect is true, our world could be a drastically altered reality to what it was meant to be. By calling up Anyanka ourselves, we can destroy her powercenter, which should reverse all the wishes she's granted, rendering her mortal and powerless again. Just think how many lives we could save, how different our lives would be."

Wesley's ears perked up. "Different? Different how?" Giles didn't catch the strained tone in the other man's voice. He was too busy preparing to put his plan into action, with or without Wesley's approval. 

"Why, if the Slayer had been here all along, the Master might never have gained so much power. She might not have died last night. I might still be a Watcher..."

"...and I might never have come to Sunnydale," Wesley finished for him. _I would still be a nobody at the Watcher's Academy...would never have defeated the Master...would never have impressed my father or Quentin Travers....would never have met -_ His hand flew instinctively to his neck, where the stiff collar of his shirt rubbed irritatingly at the puncture wounds hidden beneath it. _No!_ It couldn't be happening, not when he was finally getting everything he could wish for, not when he and Angel had just found each other. 

Wesley watched, his eyes growing dark and cold, as Giles began laying out several bags and bowls of various herbs and powders onto his chess table. Choosing from a few of them, the elder Watcher returned to his desk, where a large golden goblet already smoldered there. Picking up his book, he began to recite the ritual to summon Anyanka. 

Wesley moved cat-like to directly behind his fellow countryman. Giles never knew what hit him.

*****

Angel jumped up from his seat on the couch at the sound of the front door opening. "Wes, where the hell did you go? I woke up and you weren't here and -" He rushed over, his nose twitching, as he sniffed at his lover suspiciously. "Are you hurt? I smell blood all over you." Angel's brow furrowed even deeper as he sniffed at Wesley again. "But, it's not _your_ blood."

Wesley smiled affectionately at Angel's concern. "I'm sorry I worried you. I'm fine. There were just a few loose ends I needed to deal with. Couldn't be helped."

_Couldn't be helped._ Wesley allowed Angel to sweep him up in a tight embrace and kiss him deeply. _Sometimes sacrifices had to be made._ He looked into Angel's brown eyes and reached up to caress his cheek. _After all, Father's beatings taught me well._ Angel slipped an arm around Wesley's slim waist and began to lead him back towards the bedroom. 

_Failure is never an option._

\- the end -


End file.
